Sunday, October 17, 2010

It's a backstory poem for my falconer character, Richolf, who is featured in my serialized Saturday fiction. I was just brainstorming his storyline over the weekend at my annual real-life writer's retreat at White Point Beach, Nova Scotia.

Cowering in ceaseless darkHe didn't know what was worseThe waitingThe knowledge there was no more waitingThe tiny flame of hopeThe hopelessnessThe weight of iron on his wristsThe moment of weightlessnessThe sound of their footsteps coming for himThe silence of solitaryWere they coming with food?Would they drag him down the corridor?Would they break something?Would he beg them to stop?He didn't know what was worseThe memory of his cries, his screamsOr the knowledge there were more lurking inside of himIt was hard to sayHard to know what was worseIt was all worseHe could see no way outThere was no courage leftFor the next time he heard their footstepsFor the next time the keys clicked in the lockBut he was so hungrySo thirstyMaybe he heard somethingMaybe they would bring him somethingHe had to ride the turbulent hope and dreadHe had no choiceThe iron pressed down on his wristsThe cold seeped up from the stonesThe bruises ached from the last timeHis stomach growledHe hoped they arrived soonHe hoped he never saw them againHe couldn't take much moreHow long did it take to go mad?Or was it already too late?